Versatility, Sometimes a Little Too Much

PARIS

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Valerio Mezzanotti for The New York Times

HAIDER ACKERMANN A vest with exaggerated collars made of wool and leather.

Patrick Kovarik/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

ISABEL MARANT A brocade racer jacket over cropped leather greaser jeans.

Watching the designers Viktor Horsting and Rolf Snoeren of Viktor & Rolf laboriously undress the model Kristen McMenamy one layer at a time, until all she had on was a skimpy white bodysuit as she stood on a revolving platform at the center of their runway on Saturday, the thought occurred that a great show does not necessarily equal great fashion.

You do have to hand it to Mr. Horsting and Mr. Snoeren for their production skills — and to Ms. McMenamy, who is in her 40s and in fantastic shape, for being a sport. She had stepped onto the runway wearing half of the designers’ fall collection piled nomadically on her shoulders, one fox-trimmed maxi-cape short of tipping over, and left wearing the other half.

Ms. McMenamy’s metamorphosis (painfully slow) came about as the designers removed one piece of her outfit and put it on the next model who walked by. Her cape became a coat with sleeves, using a system of zippers. Her tweed-print skirt was turned inside out to become a mink vest. There was a navy fox chubby in there somewhere. Once she was disrobed, the designers began to pluck other clothes from the passing models and put them on Ms. McMenamy, the last being a gunmetal ball gown with a ruffled skirt that was loosened with a drawstring and turned into a cape. Making an exit, she looked like the front end of a steam engine.

But for all the peeling of layers and possible metaphors therein (please, let it not be about the rebirth of fashion), all you were really left with was a bunch of reversible clothes. Ultimately it seemed a shallow expression, especially in light of the work of other designers here who have shown collections that spoke loudly without a big shtick.

Haider Ackermann, for one, also showed clothes that were versatile — namely, his tight leather and wool jackets with zip-off peplums and long ribbonlike collars that could be wrapped together in as many ways as the French can tie a scarf. His inky and earthy compositions enchant by incorporating, or sometimes tangling, multiple materials and textures into what appears to be a single piece, like a long fitted dress that blended a satin top, a split jersey skirt, a laser-cut leather lace peplum and a ridged leather shawl collar.

Some of Mr. Ackermann’s designs were more sensual still, made entirely of a thin leather cobweb lace that seemed barely capable of holding together, and yet was exquisitely crafted.

Hourglass dresses were once the singular specialty of Roland Mouret, though you got the sense from his latest RM collection that he is a designer of broader capabilities, or at least one who wants to present a retailer with options. His origami-cut bouclé suits were shown with or without hoods, and a black crepe dress covered with large blue sequins fanned out across the front came strapless, sleeveless or with long sleeves. It was funny that his soundtrack included a voice saying, “Yes, no, yes, no,” which was perfectly in tune with my notes.

Isabel Marant, known for her contemporary edge and personal cuteness, also bore deeply into a single look: the greaser chick. She showed nearly 30 variations of her 1950s-era low-slung jeans, cropped and cuffed at the calf, in white denim, red leather and blue sequins, among other options. But her jackets were cut loose, including an elongated varsity style, and often came in polished brocade or nubby wool, which made for a modern contrast.

Bernhard Willhelm deserves a spanking after the mess he made by setting up a tableau presentation at the Palais de la Bourse, right in the middle of a busy trade show. At the entrance, there were easily 600 guests squished on a marble staircase, all pushing their way to the front of the line. Once you were in, the grand payoff was seeing a few models in toga dresses that were quasi-tribal and painted with Japanese characters, some holding staffs made of baguettes, others holding sex toys.

I’m not a prude, but some of the displays seemed unusually mean-spirited for Mr. Willhelm. When a man in a wrestling singlet, who was writhing as he was whipped by a woman in a fake-fur poncho, tumbled into the crowd, my boot accidentally landed on his hair. What’s worse, I think he liked it.